“But the Wall, the market…” Asherzu grinned as realization dawned on the audience and an undercurrent of soft laughter flowed through the room. “The market is not fair. The market is not concerned with keeping us as we are, with preserving a status quo. The market is a battlefield, as merciless and cold as any your ancestors fought upon. Fought and won.”

She spread her hands to the assembled recruits. “You will fight alongside us. You will bring glory and honor to your people, prosperity to your families, and dismay to your foes. Your mind is your only weapon on the Wall. Sharpen your cunning, seek out every weak spot in the competition, and bring tears of despair to all that oppose us!”

The assembled Shadowkin stood, whooping and cheering. Feista bounded to her own feet, her tail wagging furiously as she clapped. While they were still cheering, Asherzu took a small bow. “I see great things for all of you at Warg Incorporated,” she said. “May your gods smile upon you this day.”

The applause surged as the chieftain stepped out of the small room, flanked by her massive brother and a gaggle of assistants. Feista thought she saw Asherzu wink at her as the Orcess left, but it was too quick to be sure. When the Gnoll turned back to the front of the room, a Slaugh in an ill-fitting suit hopped up to the podium. “Thank you, Chieftain,” he read from a small sheet of parchment. “Next, we will cover our axes and flails policy, harassment and animosity, and then we will move on to the healing plan.”

The rest of Feista’s orientation was slow and overwhelming at the same time; standard procedures, benefits and policies, conflict resolution guidelines—duels to the death were strictly forbidden during working hours. It was like drowning in porridge until suddenly, thankfully, it abruptly ended, and they were allowed to take a lunch break in the small park outside.

She found a spot near a fountain where some of the other recruits were gathering. Clutching her small bundle of bread and salted fish, she found a spot between an Orcess who was going into Sales and a Goblin who had accepted a job in Human Resources.

“So you’ll do payroll and settle disputes?” Feista asked him.

“Oh, gods no,” said the Goblin. “That’s Hireling Resources. In Human Resources, we try to figure out how to extract the most wealth from all of these Lightlings in a sustainable way.”

“Like plundering their homes?” asked the Orcess.

“That’s old thinking,” said the Goblin. “Pillage a town’s gold, and you’ll be rich for a day. Make a town systemically dependent on services that only you provide, and you’ll be rich for a lifetime.”

After lunch, Feista was fetched by a young intern. He had a mottled green face pocked with spots that could have been acne or some sort of intentional modification—it was hard to tell with Gremlins. The intern led her up three floors of stairs into an open floor, illuminated with the pale blue light of glowstones and packed with rows of shining pine desks. Only about half of the seats in the room were occupied. A mahogany desk faced the others at the front of the room, and behind it an Orc bulged out of a fine suit. A polished brass nameplate on the desk said “Borpo Skar’Ezzod” twice; once in Imperial lettering, and below it in Orcish bone glyphs.

“I am Borpo, the Bloodied Fist, first among the Skar’Ezzod, Senior Elder of Finance and Analysis at Warg Inc. You will be my direct report,” Borpo told Feista as the intern skittered away. He grasped her paw in a meaty hand and shook it vigorously. “Together we will bring honor and glory to Warg Incorporated!”

“Uh, yes,” said the Gnoll, trying not to wince at his crushing grip.

“Come. Let us review your duties!” Borpo spoke every word with force and gusto, as though emphasizing a punch.

“Yes,” Feista repeated.

He walked her past all of the empty desks to a green door. Behind it was a small, windowless chamber lined with bookshelves, each of them brimming with folios of parchment. Four desks were in the middle of the room. Three of them were completely empty, while the fourth had a brass nameplate that said “Feista Hrurk.”

“You will be in our analysis team,” said Borpo. “The analysis team will find the weaknesses in our opponents’ stocks, the cracks in their armor that will bring down their bloated corporations. You will provide the brokerage and finance teams of Warg Inc. the insights they need to stand against the Lightling companies.”

“Yes, but… where is the rest of the team?” Feista asked, looking at the cluster of empty desks.

“You are the first of your kind!” boomed Borpo. “Opportunity is before you, and now you must grasp it!”

“But I—I mean, I’ve never done⁠—”

“Asherzu Guz’Varda has spoken highly of you!” said Borpo, and now there was a hint of danger in his thundering voice. “What is more, she believes it is a failure of Finance that we had no Analysis Department before today. And given how wise our chieftain and CEO is, I am sure this will work out very well.” There was enough vitriol in his last declaration to curdle milk.

Feista felt her tail instinctively curling beneath her legs, and willed it to straighten. “Uh, right, but⁠—”

“Excellent. Then we have an understanding. I expect your first report tomorrow. Glory and honor!” With that bold and disjointed declaration, Borpo strode back out of the Analysis Department.

Feista took stock of the day as she watched him go. She had only a vague sense of her job, a boss that seemed to resent its existence, and no team to rely upon. On the other hand, it was apparent that she still had Asherzu’s confidence, and that clearly still counted for a lot. There seemed to be plenty of good research materials here as well, and there were some papers in her inbox that seemed like a good place to start. And then, in her pocket…

She pulled out the neatly folded slip of fresh parchment. The message had been transcribed by Wood Gnomes afield, then chittered to a sprite, flown to Andarun, and relayed to Gnomes at Mrs. Hrurk’s Home for the Underprivileged, and was finally stamped out and left on the front table this morning. Mr. Poldo had devised it as an extremely secure way of sending letters, and as an added bonus, most of the correspondence only took a single night to arrive.

Mrs. Hrurk who is dear to me,

I greet you with happy smile! Your new job reaches my ears. Very happy!

Feista sighed. She had to admit that Mr. Poldo’s ingenious use of Wood Gnomes was secure from interception, but much was lost in two rounds of translation. Usually the coherence.

I have knowledge of nervousness in new task. Fear not! I had new job too, long time ago, and you are my superior. I am confident you will be best at business!

There is hard work you are very good at. There are smart things you are very good at. There are no things you cannot do.

I stare ahead to the time when I hear of your success.

Biggest hopes,

Duine Poldo

“There are no things you cannot do,” she said to herself as she tucked the note back into her pocket. With a determined nod, Feista Hrurk sat down at her new desk, took the top piece of paper from her inbox tray, and got to work.

“This is no time for sittin’ around!” Gorm growled, fists on his hips. Gaist cast a long shadow over his shoulder. Both Dwarf and doppelganger glared down at the bench before them and the recumbent figure occupying it.

“I respectfully disagree.” Heraldin lay in the shade of the lone maple that marked Duflo Park on the Fifth Tier. The bard kept the brim of his wide hat pulled low over his eyes. “And I’d know better than you. I’m both a former participant in your insane quests, and something of an expert on leisure. I can say from experience that I find the latter much more agreeable.”

“We know where the flame olive oil is goin’!” the Dwarf insisted. “We’re on the cusp of exposin’ Johan for a liar and a killer!”

Heraldin lifted his hat an inch to watch an Elf in a well-tailored dress walking along the street. “And when you do, you owe me your ballad rights.”

“If and when your information pans out!” Gorm jabbed a figure at the bard, distracting him from the retreating Elf. “And not a moment before.”

“Then the sooner you start, the sooner we’ll all get what we want.” Heraldin pulled his hat down over his eyes again. “I look forward to your return.”

“I thought ye might want to do your part,” grumbled the berserker.

The bard lifted the edge of his hat a fraction with a flick of his thumb. A single, irritated eye gleamed up at Gorm from the tangle of shadow and hair beneath its brim. “I did my part.”

“We ain’t done⁠—”

“I found you the source. I led you to the information,” growled Heraldin.

“Aye, but⁠—”

“I fought the undead. I stood against the liche. I rescued the downtrodden. I spent a year in the thrice-cursed wilderness. I fought for the Orcs. I quested for the Elven Marbles. I have done much, much more for this city than this city has done for me, my friend, and now? Now I want to play music and drink in excess and sleep the mornings away. I have earned it. I did my part.” The bard pulled his hat down with theatrical emphasis. “I bid you good luck.”

Gorm threw up his hands in exasperation and looked at the weaponsmaster. “Will you talk some sense—er, stare some sense into him?”

Gaist cast a sidelong glance at the lounging man and shrugged in such a way that suggested this was an old fight he was unwilling to start again.

“I saw that,” sniped Heraldin. “Not everyone is so eager to shout zahat’emptor.”